Chapter 17 Beck
BECK
The house is already packed when I get there—music thumping through the walls, the smell of cheap beer and pizza hanging heavy in the air.
Damn, I really miss normal pizza.
I grab a bottle of water from the cooler in the kitchen before finding a spot along the wall near the living room, where Logan’s holding court with a couple of the guys.
“Look at this,” he says the second I join them, clapping me on the shoulder hard enough to slosh water onto my hand. “Beck Harrison, actually showing his face at a party. What’s the occasion? Did hell freeze over?”
I shake my head, deadpan. “You’re hilarious.”
He grins, unbothered. “I mean, last season you came home after games to ice your knees and be a grandpa, not to mention turning me in for being too loud. Now, suddenly you’re out here with the cool kids.
” He makes a sweeping gesture at the crowded living room, where a group is already dancing on the coffee table.
“I’m standing in the corner with you,” I point out.
“Exactly,” he fires back, grinning.
I roll my eyes, taking a slow sip from the bottle just to keep from answering.
The door opens, and a wave of cooler night air drifts in.
Sophie steps inside.
Jeans, blonde hair loose around her shoulders, a soft sweatshirt in Storm colors. She looks like she belongs here, but somehow…brighter. Easier. My chest tightens before I can shove the thought away.
Logan lets out a low chuckle beside me. “Never mind,” he says, leaning closer. “I was gonna give you shit all night, but the reason just walked in the door.”
I keep my eyes on the bottle in my hand, refusing to rise to it. “Drop it, Logan.”
But I know the smile tugging at the corner of his mouth means he won’t.
And if I’m being honest, the heat creeping up the back of my neck probably gives me away anyway.
I stay posted against the wall longer than I probably should, nursing my water and half-listening while Logan’s story winds down.
Across the room, Sophie’s still with the cheer girls—until a couple of guys from the soccer team drift over, sliding into the circle. One of them leans too close when he talks, and even from here I can tell it makes her shift back a little, the edge of her smile tightening.
Something in my chest tugs.
I don’t move. Not yet. I tell myself she can handle it, that it’s not my place to interfere. But my jaw sets anyway, shoulders going tight.
Next to me, Logan follows my gaze. He goes quiet for a beat, then elbows me—not the sharp, mocking jab he usually gives, but a lighter one. “You gonna stand here all night or go make sure she’s good?”
I cut him a look. “She doesn’t need me hovering.”
“Maybe not,” he says, tone casual but not unkind. “But I think she’d rather see you than them.”
My grip tightens around the bottle. He’s probably right, but it still feels like crossing a line.
Then one of the soccer guys leans in again, making her laugh too loudly, and I see the flicker in her eyes—the quick scan of the room, like she’s looking for an exit.
That’s all it takes.
I push off the wall. “You better not make me regret this,” I mutter to Logan.
He just grins, not smug this time, but like he knows I’m doing exactly what I need to.
I weave through the crowd, keeping my pace even, my expression unreadable. No need to make a scene—just close the distance.
By the time I reach the group, one of the soccer guys is mid-story, arms flailing as he exaggerates something that doesn’t sound half as funny as Sophie’s forced laugh makes it seem.
I step up beside her, close enough that my shoulder brushes hers. She glances up—and the relief that flashes in her eyes nearly knocks the air out of me.
Without hesitation, she slides an arm around my waist, leaning in like I’ve been here all along. A side hug, casual to anyone else, but it roots me to the spot.
She feels…right. Warm and soft, fitting against me in a way that makes the noise of the room dull.
“Hey,” she says brightly, looking up at me instead of the guys. “You made it.”
“Wouldn’t miss it,” I answer, my voice calm, even as my chest feels anything but.
The soccer guys glance between us, conversation stalling, and Sophie takes the chance to excuse herself. She pulls me with her, hand brushing against my back as we slip out of the circle.
I don’t say anything right away. Just file away the way she hugged me without thinking twice—and the way, for the first time in a long time, I didn’t want to let go.
Once we’re clear of the circle, I glance down at her. She’s still smiling, but it’s different now, warmer, and reaches her eyes.
“You want something to drink?” I ask.
Her shoulders relax, just a fraction. “Water would be great.”
“Got it.”
I thread my way through the kitchen, grabbing another bottle of water from the cooler, and hand one to her when I get back. Her fingers brush mine as she takes it, and the faintest spark shoots up my arm.
“Thanks,” she says softly.
I nod once, then tilt my head toward the back of the house. “Come on. It’s quieter this way.”
We slip through the crowd, out the sliding glass door onto the back deck. Out here, the music is muffled, replaced by the hum of voices and the night air, cooler and easier to breathe. String lights zigzag overhead, casting everything in a warm glow.
She exhales like she’s been holding her breath since she walked in. “Much better.”
I lean against the railing, uncapping my bottle. “Crowds not your thing?”
Her laugh is soft, almost sheepish. “Funny coming from you. You just had half the stadium chanting your name.”
I shrug. “Different kind of crowd.”
Her eyes linger on me a second longer than they should. Then she looks away, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, and I let the silence stretch comfortably.
For the first time tonight, it feels like we’re exactly where we’re supposed to be.
She takes a sip of water, her gaze sweeping over the yard below where people are laughing and tossing a football. Then her eyes flick back to me, a mix of gratitude and something else.
“Thanks for…saving me in there,” she says, her voice quiet.
I shake my head. “Didn’t seem like you needed saving. Just looked like I walked up at the right time.”
Her lips curve, small but genuine. “Right time, right place. Seems to keep happening with you.”
I don’t answer that. Just take a long drink of water, letting the silence settle.
But the thought’s already there, pressing at me. Tonight made it clear, if this keeps going, if she keeps leaning on me in front of people, then we can’t leave it undefined.
“You’re…” She starts, then shakes her head, smiling. “You’re hard to figure out, you know that?”
I let the corner of my mouth twitch. “Good. Keeps you guessing.”
Her laugh is soft, caught between disbelief and something warmer. For a moment, the noise of the party fades into the background.
She fiddles with her bottle cap, then glances at me again, her voice lighter now. “Well, for what it’s worth—you make a pretty convincing fake boyfriend.”
I huff out a quiet laugh, turning back to the yard. “Guess I’ll take that as a compliment.”
She tilts her head, eyes catching the glow of the string lights strung across the railing. “Tell me something real. Something no one else knows.”
I huff out a quiet laugh. “What is this, twenty questions?”
Her smile curves, but her voice is softer now. “Just one.”
I glance toward the yard, weighing it. I don’t usually hand out pieces of myself for free. But she’s standing there, waiting—not prying, not pushing. Just asking.
Finally, I say, “I had a counselor in junior high. And another one in high school.” My thumb brushes over the cap of my water bottle. “They were good. Really good. The kind of people who listened and made me feel heard when no one else did.”
Her expression shifts, the teasing gone, her eyes soft.
“They helped me figure some stuff out,” I add, shrugging like it’s no big deal. “Made me think…maybe I could do the same for someone else one day.”
The words hang between us, heavier than I meant them to be, but not uncomfortable. Just true.
Her lips part like she’s going to say something, then she closes them, studying me for a beat longer. When she finally speaks, her voice is quiet. “That makes so much sense.”
I arch a brow. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” she says, a smile tugging at her mouth. “You’ve got this…calming thing about you. Like people could trust you with the stuff they don’t tell anyone else.”
I look away before she can see the way that lands, the faint tug in my chest. “Maybe.”
I tip my chin at her, lips curving faintly. “Your turn. You owe me one now.”
Her eyes sparkle, mischief slipping back in as she says, “Okay, fine. Something no one else knows…”
I wait while she drums her fingers against her water bottle.
“I still sleep with the same blanket I’ve had since I was four.”
That pulls a laugh out of me before I can stop it—low, surprised, real. “The same one?”
She nods quickly, grinning now. “Don’t judge. It’s vintage.”
“Vintage,” I echo, shaking my head. “That’s one way to put it.”
She bumps my shoulder lightly with hers, like she’s daring me to tease her more. And for the first time all night, the heaviness in my chest eases into something lighter.
We stand there a while longer, side by side, sipping our water under the string lights. And I can’t help the thought creeping in—that for a fake thing, this feels a little too easy. A little too good.
The sliding door creaks open behind us, spilling music and voices back onto the deck. One of the cheer captains pokes her head out. “Sophie! Come inside, we’re about to play!”
Sophie smiles apologetically, lifting her water bottle. “Actually, I think I’m gonna head home.”
Before I can say anything, Logan materializes in the doorway, grinning like he’s been waiting for his chance. “Bailing already?”
“I’ve got practice tomorrow,” Sophie says with a shrug. Then she turns to me, softer now. “Thanks for the quiet company.”
The words hit harder than they should. So I clear my throat and say, “I’ll walk you.”
Logan’s brows shoot up, his grin widening. Sophie doesn’t hesitate—she just nods. “Oh, that’s right. It’s on the way to your place.”
Logan’s head snaps toward me, his expression somewhere between excuse me? and since when? I shake my head sharply, mouthing don’t start.
He just smirks even more, stepping aside so we can pass.
Out on the sidewalk, the air is even cooler, quieter. We fall into step, our shoes scuffing against the pavement in rhythm.
We head out, the street quiet except for the distant hum of traffic and the crunch of gravel under our shoes. For a while, neither of us speaks.
Finally, I glance at her, voice low but even. “It’s really none of my business, but…what were you doing with Zach in the first place? The guy doesn’t seem to have treated you very well.”
She exhales a laugh, short and self-deprecating. “That’s an understatement.”
I don’t say anything, just wait.
Her eyes stay on the sidewalk. “At first? He was easy. Charming in the way guys are when they know everyone expects them to be. And my parents love him, or his family really. What it meant for them. Which…honestly, was probably the real reason I stayed with him as long as I did.” She shrugs one shoulder, the motion small.
“It felt simpler to let them believe I was happy than to admit I wasn’t when I knew they wouldn’t care. ”
I nod once, letting the words settle. “Simpler doesn’t mean better.”
She looks up at me then, surprise flickering across her face before softening into something else.
We walk the rest of the way in silence, but it’s not the heavy kind. Just comfortable. When Emerson Hall comes into view, she slows, tugging her bag higher on her shoulder.
“Thanks for walking me,” she says, her smile small but real.
I nod. “See you Monday.”
And as I turn back toward my place, I can’t shake the thought that she deserves better than “simpler.”